


I'll Blow This (open wide)

by LadySlytherin



Series: TW/CM Crossover!Verse [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Case, Crossdressing, Crossover, FBI Intern Stiles Stilinski, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Misunderstandings, Panty Kink, Pranks and Practical Jokes, because of the case, it's the BAU after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24630856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: FBI intern Stiles Stilinski is beyond excited at the prospect of joining the elite Behavioral Analysis Team. The BAU seems happy to have him joining their number.When a fellow-intern comes to the mistaken conclusion that Stiles Stilinski and Dr. Spencer Reid are both dating the same person, Stiles sees it as an opportunity to bond with his future-teammate. One should never underestimate the pranking ability of two geniuses with devious tendencies.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Series: TW/CM Crossover!Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780828
Comments: 150
Kudos: 1427





	I'll Blow This (open wide)

**Author's Note:**

> Keeping canon only through, like, S2...but upholding the canon facts of Scott’s dad being in the FBI and Stiles getting an FBI internship straight out of HS. I’m not bothering to try to line-up the canonical timelines for CM and TW, because I just don’t have the energy and I’m only on S4 of CM, so yeah. That being said, the BAU team I’m using is JJ, Hotch, Reid, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, and Rossi and this is set during some absolutely ambiguous time-frame for them.
> 
> This is my first crossover fic, so be kind. Fun side note: I did _not_ realize Jeff Davis created both of these shows until _after_ I had started writing this. Also, clearly JD is using preset cookie-cutters to create characters, but that's a whole separate issue.
> 
> Comments are love; please leave me some. ❤️
> 
> ~ Sly 
> 
> P.S. - This fic will have a sequel. For _reasons._

Stiles Stilinski had once sworn he would never go into the FBI. It was a declaration he placed squarely on the shoulders of Agent McCall, because Scott’s dad was a fucking _douche_ and Stiles hadn't liked the idea of so much as _spitting on_ anything associated with the man, no matter how loosely. Except when he was given the opportunity to actually do an FBI internship, he couldn't _imagine_ saying no. He was _at least_ three years younger than all of the other people interning - and far more than that, in some cases - so he got several cold side-eyes when he arrived in Quantico, Virginia, but he didn’t care.

It’s not like he wasn’t used to being the odd man out, after all.

He missed the pack fiercely - especially during his first stretch at Quantico because the damn physical training portion was _brutal,_ okay. And it wasn’t that Stiles wasn’t fit. He’d played lacrosse all through high school and even benchwarmers had to be in a certain physical shape, because Finstock was fucking _insane_ and the worse Stiles played the more suicides Coach made him run and that was just how it _was._ Not to mention he’d been running with a damn werewolf pack for _almost three years_ by the time he graduated from BHHS. And it wasn’t just that he was running with wolves, either. It was that he was dating Derek Hale, who just so happened to be the _alpha_ of their pack, and Derek had made damn sure that Stiles was fighting-fit. As in, more than capable of fighting or fleeing as the occasion called for.

But even as fit as he was, at the end of each day Stiles was tired, and cranky, and all he wanted was to curl up with his alpha. Except he _couldn't_ because he was stuck in FBI training in Quantico, Virginia while his pack - including his boyfriend - were all in Beacon Hills, California. Or, well...not _really_ because several other pack members were scattered at various colleges, but still. Home was Beacon Hills, and _Derek_ was at home, and Stiles had a case of homesickness so strong it was damn near _crippling._

So it didn’t take long before Stiles came up with a coping mechanism for that ache in his heart caused by the (temporary) distance between himself and Derek Hale. Namely, _talking about Derek Hale._ To absolutely anyone and everyone, whether they seemed interested in hearing about his completely amazing boyfriend or not. Stiles didn’t care. He just...wanted to talk about Derek. All the damn time. Talking about Derek somehow made it hurt a little less that they were so damn far apart for the moment.

Nothing really dimmed his enthusiasm to chatter about the love of his life. At least, not until they started the _‘case-exercises’_ portion of their internship.

Now, the thing about the FBI was that it had a whole host of departments. All these smaller sections and teams, made up of agents and analysts who specialized in various types of cases. So when new agents came in, there was a whole process to determine where they would be placed. A part of that was determining aptitude and skill sets. Some of that was done in the classroom, through interviews and tests. But some of it was done by placing the interns briefly in each of the departments, letting them see what each of them dealt with and giving the potential agents the chance to figure out which department(s) they might like to apply to, provided they passed all the necessary qualifications and exams to become a full-fledged agent at the FBI.

And really, Stiles was _stoked_ to be doing the case-exercises portion of things. Screw dipping his toes in the pool; he wanted to cannonball off the high-dive and get right to it. And this was a chance to actually talk to real agents. To look at case files. To figure out where he might want to work, when all was said and done. And the thing was, Stiles knew which team _wanted him._ He knew, because it was how he’d managed to get into the internship in the first place, despite his age and lack of qualifications. But that didn’t mean Stiles _had_ to go there. Provided he did well in this program, he’d be able to apply where he wanted. So before he made any decisions or commitments, Stiles wanted a chance to see what was what; a chance to _know._

The instructors had split their whole intern group into smaller groups of four or five and were cycling them through the departments on a sort of rotational schedule. Stiles didn’t really know anyone else in the group that well, but that was okay. He wasn’t there to make friends, after all. The first couple of weeks bouncing around various departments in the FBI were hectic, but fun. Some of the departments were a little grim, but that was the job and - honestly - Stiles was the son of a small-town sheriff in addition to running with a werewolf pack for most of his teenage years. He’d seen more than his fair share of gruesome and bloody, up-close and personal, on more than one occasion. The majority of this was nothing he hadn't seen before. Hell, in a lot of ways, Stiles had seen _way worse._

That being the case, when the time came for his little group to try out the department Stiles knew was the one he was _expected_ to go into, Stiles felt more than prepared for it. And, if he was being honest, a little excited.

He and the other four interns were shuffled into the middle of the floor, desks spaced at nice even intervals all around them and a series of conference rooms and offices ringing the open floor area on two floors. A pretty blonde woman smiled at them, hands clasped in front of her and a welcoming smile on her face as she launched into what was clearly a well-rehearsed introduction.

“My name is Agent Jennifer Jareau, but you’re all welcome to call me JJ.” She gestured to the space around them as she continued. “Welcome to the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, known as the B.A.U. for short. You’ll spend the next few days working with the team I’m a part of, seeing what components make it up and learning a little about what we do here. Now, if you’ll all follow me to the conference room, the team should be gathering for our standard Monday morning meeting, which happens whenever we don’t have an active case.”

Stiles immediately fell into step behind JJ, his fellow interns falling in behind him. Stiles had never considered himself a leader, but he’d quickly discovered that his group-mates tended to huddle together and observe rather than jumping in. And maybe that was expected; maybe that was the _normal_ reaction in this scenario. But Stiles had always been a hands-on kind of learner and he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty when he had to. And so far none of the agents they’d been assigned to observe and learn from had minded his enthusiasm, though some of their _instructors_ for the program had been a little vexed by his seemingly insatiable curiosity and absolutely unending stream of questions.

They walked into the conference room and JJ immediately began pointing to people. “Our unit leader is SSA Hotchner. We also have SSA’s Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Dr. Reid, and our technical analyst Garcia.”

JJ turned to her team, her smile shifting into something warmer; more genuine. “Everyone, these are the newest batch of interns currently going through the program. I’ll let them introduce themselves.”

“Anne Smith.” Mumbled one of the girls, who was about twenty-two and staring intently at her sensible black shoes.

“Ashton Michaels.” That was offered in a firm voice by a guy who looked like he was an alpha-male type, but who nonetheless fell into line when any of their instructors or the agents so much as _looked_ at him, and the inherent contradiction amused Stiles to no end.

“Carla Valasequez.” Her long, dark hair was pulled up in a no-nonsense bun, and the hard set of her jaw as well as the stiff way she held her body told Stiles she was former military. His time with her in the program told him she’d done a tour in Iraq and another in Afghanistan before she decided the Bureau might suit her better than combat, but that was about all he knew about her.

“Sam Jones.” He was the intern Stiles liked the least. The guy had a law degree and seemed to think that somehow made him better than everyone else, especially when combined with his moderately good looks. Mostly Stiles just wanted to punch the smug look off Sam’s face, but he resisted because the program mattered more than his annoyance. The day it _didn’t,_ Sam had better watch the fuck out, though.

Stiles opened his mouth to offer his own name, but SSA Rossi had stood and reached for his hand, greeting him with a grin. “Stiles. I was wondering when you’d rotate through. It’s good to see you again. How are you liking the program?”

“It’s intense.” Stiles admitted, shaking Rossi’s hand and beaming at everyone. “But I gotta admit, I’m loving it. And I’m excited to see what your team does, first-hand. I know you explained it to me when we met - when you pushed for me to apply for the program, because you want me here in the BAU - but _seeing it_ is always different.”

Dr. Reid pushed his glasses up his nose, tipping his head slightly as he studied Stiles. “This is the kid you were talking about, Rossi? The one you think is a natural profiler?”

“He is.” Rossi sat back down, gesturing to the empty chairs. “Sit, sit. All of you.” Stiles’ ass hit a chair before anyone else’s and he refused to feel bad about it even as Rossi continued. “This is Stiles Stilinski. We have a couple of mutual acquaintances and I had a chance to meet him and discuss his involvement in a few cases in his hometown. He’s not _you,_ Reid, but the kid’s got a knack for figuring people and patterns out. I think he’ll be an asset.”

Stiles blushed a little, but couldn't help grinning. Because Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi had helped _create_ the BAU. He was one of the original profilers, back before anyone believed that profiling was something that could even be _done,_ let alone that it was something that was actually _useful._ His endorsement meant a hell of a lot and Stiles knew it. He’d read all of Rossi’s books, after all. And, more than that, he’d done his research. He’d done his research on _all_ of the members of the team, actually, though a couple of them had way less information available about them than others did. Still, he hadn't walked in here blind.

The other blonde woman - the one with glasses and the delightfully outrageous outfit - spoke up, asking curiously. “Is your name _actually_ Stiles Stilinski?”

Stiles laughed, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.” He knew she was Penelope Garcia and that her tech-skills put even Danny’s to shame, so Stiles had a healthy respect for her already. “But I think Agent Prentiss and possibly Dr. Reid are the only ones who have any chance in hell at pronouncing my first name. As a rule, it’s pointless to even offer it. _Stiles_ works better.”

Seeing several raised eyebrows, Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes, then stood again and walked over to a whiteboard. Gesturing, he asked. “Can I...?”

“Go right ahead.” It was SSA Hotchner who answered, his steely gaze curious. “I think all of us would like to see it.”

Stiles obligingly wrote his given name, in neat block letters complete with all the appropriate accent-marks.

_Mścisław_

Then he turned and raised an eyebrow, waiting. Emily Prentiss pursed her lips for a moment, then seemed to mouth over the syllables a couple of times, clearly trying to remember the correct way to say the various letters. Dr. Spencer Reid studied it as well, then said softly. “Mees-che-swaff, isn’t it?”

Stiles’ lips pulled up at the corners and he inclined his head slightly. “Just so, Dr. Reid. I think Agent Prentiss would have gotten it as well, if she’d had a couple of minutes. But, as a general rule, nobody says it right. Not even my _dad_ says it right.”

Before anyone could say anything else, JJ cleared her throat and held up a folder. “So, I know the new interns are interesting and it’s always fun to poke at them a bit, but I’d like everyone’s attention now. We...have a case.”

She reached behind her, then began passing out an identical manilla folder to each member of her team. She bypassed the interns, nodding for them to share with the agents around them. Stiles stepped closer to the table as everyone flipped open their copies and JJ continued.

“New Orleans is requesting our help. One of Will’s friends from the force called him up and asked his thoughts, and Will of course pointed him in our direction.” She began flipping through her own folder, tacking up copies of the photos each of the agents were looking at. “They have four dead men, who’ve turned up over the last month.”

Before he could stop himself, Stiles asked. “Are the bodies dropping once a week, or have they gotten progressively closer together?”

For a moment there was silence, then JJ said softly. “One a week.”

Stiles nodded, humming as he reached out, tugging Rossi’s file closer to himself. He quickly fanned the main body-shots out, scanning them quickly, brow furrowed as he concentrated, muttering under his breath. “No increase in aggression from one body to the next. No decrease in time between the bodies. Steady pattern. Organized killer, no sign of devolving yet.” He flicked his eyes to JJ and asked. “Sexual trauma?”

JJ’s lips parted in surprise before she looked at Hotch, not quite sure if she should answer. It was Rossi who said. “Tell the kid what he wants to know, JJ. I told you, he’s got a knack and I’m curious what he’s got to say.”

“Yes.” JJ said. She cleared her throat again, then gestured to the four photos she’d tacked up; the same four Stiles had spread across the table to study better. “Each of the men was raped and tortured before being strangled. Each body was dumped in the same park. Based on the coroner’s reports, as well as when each man was reported missing, we’re positing the victims were held for between three and five days prior to being killed.”

“So the unsub is likely taking a new victim within a couple of days of dumping a body.” Stiles said, his brain immediately working on overdrive to sort out what he could already tell. “He’s clearly an organized serial killer. A sexual sadist, from the looks of it. The park has to have some significance to him, because it’s not being used to _conceal_ the bodies, but rather to display them. He’s not hiding them. He _wants_ them to be found. He doesn’t bury them, or cover their faces. He doesn’t redress them when he’s done with them, or wrap them in anything. There’s no remorse here, and he’s not ashamed of what he’s done to them. If anything, he’s _proud_ of it.”

Stiles glanced up just in time to see his fellow interns staring at him like he was some kind of freak, but then Rossi was chuckling. “What did I tell you guys? Kid’s a natural.”

“I’m inclined to agree, actually.” Hotch turned those eagle-sharp eyes on Stiles. “I’d like to have you shadow Reid while we’re working this case. You’re not an official agent, so you can’t be in the field unsupervised and you shouldn’t be interacting directly with local law enforcement, but I want to hear your thoughts and observations. Filter them through Reid when necessary, but if it’s just you and any of our team, don’t hesitate to speak up.”

He turned his gaze on the other interns and it sharpened further, his lips thinning as he added. “I expect each of you to pay close attention to how things are done. If one of the team asks you to do something, you do it. No questions; no debate.”

When the four had bobble-headed out their _‘Yes, sir’s,’_ Hotch added. “Alright, then. Everyone grab your go-bags. Interns, if you don’t have those, you’ve got about a half hour to get to your dorms, assemble one, and get back here. I want us wheels up in an hour.”

Unsurprisingly, the interns immediately scrambled out of the conference room. Stiles, however, simply flipped a page in the report and asked absently. “Is there someplace I can get a cup of coffee?”

Hotch’s eyebrows winged up on his way out of the room, but it was Morgan who spoke. “Not gonna go pack a bag?”

“Already have one packed.” Stiles said, flipping back a couple of pages with a frown, more than half his mind focused on what he was reading rather than on the - admittedly gorgeous - man who was talking to him. He noted that JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi were leaving the room as well, but deemed it unimportant in the grand scheme of things as he answered Morgan. “It’s with my hoodie. They told us we could put our stuff - coats or bags or whatever - in one of the empty conference rooms downstairs. Go-bag’s in there, as well as my laptop bag.”

Morgan whistled, addressing his next words to Reid. “Damn, Pretty Boy. You might have some competition. This kid is _prepared.”_

“I was a Boy Scout for like, five minutes.” Stiles joked, glancing up from the file to shoot a soft, amused look between Reid and Morgan, adding. “You’re cute together.”

Reid choked on his coffee even as Garcia cackled and Morgan raised an eyebrow, smiling in a way that showed too many teeth to be called _nice._ “Come again, kid?”

Stiles shrugged one shoulder, refocusing his attention on the coroner’s reports he was comparing as he said. “Sorry if it’s a secret or something. I tend to speak without a filter a lot of the time. It can bug people. It’s just that you two remind me of me and my boyfriend.” Lips curving up again even as he continued reading, he added softly. “Der always calls me things like that. _Pretty Boy_ and _baby_ and shit.”

Seemingly recovered from his accidental coffee inhalation, Reid said. “You know, about two-thirds of Americans use pet names in romantic relationships and a similar number of people use them for friends and family as well. That being said, you can hardly extrapolate some sort of implied romantic tone from a single endearment use.”

“I didn’t.” Stiles said, finally looking up properly from the reports and giving his full attention to Reid as he explained further. “Of the people in this room, only you and Agent Morgan were drinking actual Starbucks coffee. The receipt is sitting under _his_ cup, meaning he paid for it...and bought one for you, but no one else on the team. When JJ was talking, you were both looking at her, but your bodies were angled towards each other, open and easy. Not to mention, when introductions were being made, Agent Morgan had his hand under the table, on your thigh. At one point he squeezed it and you shifted in your seat, pupils dilating and face flushing slightly. I’m not sure what you did in response - though given your height and the way you repositioned your body, it was probably something with your foot - but it made Agent Morgan hold his breath for a moment before he gave you a very heated but admonishing look, at which point you straightened back up and both of you maintained a steady lack of physical contact for the rest of the briefing.”

He glanced between Morgan and Reid, adding. “Combine that with the pet name, the fact that despite not touching you barely looked away from each other until you had a case file to focus on, and the fact that neither of you has actually _denied_ being an item...” He shrugged again. “And yeah, I’m gonna stick with my original assertion. You’re cute together.”

“Looks like we got another boy genius.” Garcia said, sipping her tea with a gleeful smirk. “Rossi might be trying to replace you, Reid. This one’s about as cute as you and maybe even a little younger than when you started.”

“I’m eighteen.” Stiles admitted, blushing when they all gaped at him. “Yeah, I’m fresh out of high school. I dunno exactly what strings got pulled, but they waived some of the program’s requirements for me.”

“You must have made one hell of an impression on Rossi.” Morgan said. Then, after a slight pause, he asked. “Did you say _Der_ before?”

“Hmmm?” Stiles was frowning at one of the photos of the bodies, something tickling at his brain, but he nodded and answered anyway. “Yeah. My boyfriend’s name is Derek. I call him Der, or sometimes Der-Bear.”

Garcia laughed brightly. “Oh my god, that’s _precious.”_ She gave Morgan a coy look, adding. “ I’m calling you Der-Bear from now on.”

 _That_ caught Stiles’ attention, dragging it away from the file and to the - okay, _incredibly sexy_ if he was being honest - older man. “Wait, your first name is Derek?” Morgan nodded and Stiles snorted, musing out loud. “What is with Dereks being built like Greek gods?”

“You mean your boyfriend is as hot as Chocolate Thunder here?” Garcia made a grabby-hand motion at Stiles, one eyebrow raised. “I need _proof,_ child. Let’s see it.”

Huffing in amusement, Stiles fished out his phone and pulled up a picture of Derek - shirtless, sweaty, and beyond gorgeous - before handing it over.

“Oh, Mama likey.” Garcia crooned, wringing another laugh from Stiles. She turned the phone towards Reid, adding. “Look at this solid hunk of man, Spence.”

Reid glanced at the phone, then did a double take, mouth falling open in shock. “Well.” He said after a minute of simply gaping silently. “That is...yes. He’s, uh...quite attractive, isn’t he? Very, uh...very nice.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, tucking a strand of his hair behind one ear as he finally tore his eyes away from Stiles’ phone.

Morgan scowled as he swiped the phone from Garcia’s hand, ignoring her protest. “Shush, Baby Girl, I just want to see what’s got you drooling all stupid.” He studied the image on Stiles’ screen for a moment, then shrugged and handed it back. “I guess he’s alright, if you like the muscular type. I personally like my men a bit more slender.”

“Yeah, you Dereks clearly have a thing for twinks.” Stiles laughed, not bothered in the slightest by anyone’s reactions. He gestured between himself and Reid, adding. “I mean, obviously I’m younger, but there’s some clear similarities. Slim, fair-skinned, kind of spazzy. Weird. Awkward. Above average intelligence, though my ADHD means I didn’t have the kind of focus that would allow me to excel at academia the way Dr. Reid has and I don’t have an eidetic memory.”

“Interesting.” Reid murmured, intense hazel eyes focused on Stiles now. “You’re much more forward than I tend to be.”

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, well. I’ve got pretty much no brain-to-mouth filter.” Lips twitching up in private amusement, he added. “I also spent most of my time over the last three years hanging out with a group of people who _always_ know if I’m lying, so lying just seems pointless.”

Reid laughed at that. “So you hang out with profilers, too?”

Stiles grinned back. “No, just...walking lie detectors. It’s kind of half skill, half innate talent. It came in handy sometimes, but mostly it was just a pain in the ass.”

“I’ll bet.” Reid agreed. He was smiling at Stiles now, something warm and curious in his gaze. “Are you alright with shadowing me? I carry a gun, but I’ll admit I’m not the most apt with it. Since we’ll be in the field, if you’d feel safer with one of the others, I can talk to Hotch about it.”

“I’d rather shadow you.” Stiles said simply. “Eidetic memory can’t be taught, but the ability to connect the various pieces of a puzzle when you’ve already got those pieces scattered in your head _can_ and it’s a skill I’d like to hone.” Smirking, he added. “And if it becomes necessary, I’ll handle the shooting.”

Morgan frowned at him. “First off, if you’re serious about joining our team, know that rule number one is that we don’t profile each other. If we did, we’d never be able to work together. There are times you won’t be able to stop yourself from noticing something but you _never_ say it.” 

Stiles blushed and lowered his head, then Morgan added. “Second off, don’t be cocky about guns. I mean, you’ve had what, a couple weeks training with them? They aren’t toys and this isn’t some action movie or video game.”

At that, Stiles’ head snapped up. He was glaring heatedly at Morgan. “With all due respect Agent Morgan, I’ve been trained in firearm safety basically since I could _walk._ My dad’s a cop and I’ve been around guns my whole life. I’m a damn good shot, thank you very much. Also, I might look like some helpless twink out of your stereotypical daddy porn, but I’m highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat as well. I’m halfway decent with knives, I can shoot accurately if not exactly _quickly_ with a compound bow, and - most of all - I know how and when to _run_ rather than fight. Don’t dismiss my abilities just because of my age. You have _no idea_ what I’ve been through.”

“Easy there, hot shot. Morgan’s just protective of Reid and he doesn’t like the idea of some kid who thinks he knows what he’s doing getting his baby hurt.” Garcia patted Stiles’ hand, smiling in a _big sister_ sort of way. “Now, I’m no profiler, but I think you’d do whatever you could to protect the people around you, so I’m not worried. I’m sure you’ll do just fine out there.”

Morgan huffed and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath. Stiles didn’t quite catch all of it, but he did hear _‘better not let my boy get hurt’_ and it made him smile. Flicking his eyes to Reid, he said. “Your Derek is moody too, huh?”

Reid grinned back. “Sometimes. Mostly he’s sweet.”

And yeah, Stiles’ Derek was the same way. “Mine, too.” He murmured, a little absently as his attention was once again drawn by the case file, brow furrowing as he spun one of the photos around, looking at it from a different angle.

“What’s wrong?” Reid asked, moving closer and looking at the picture with him. “Do you see something, or...?”

“I _should_ see something.” Stiles explained, frustration lacing the words. “It’s like part of my brain is _insisting_ that there’s something I should be noticing about these pictures and the M.E.’s report, but the rest of my brain is just...glancing over it. I can’t make it _click.”_

Reid nodded. “That happens sometimes. It’ll come to you or it won’t, but either way there’s no point in stressing yourself out about it. If you don’t see it, odds are someone else on the team will.”

Stiles nodded, shuffling the file into its folder and saying. “I’m gonna grab my stuff from downstairs. Any chance you can show me where to get coffee before we head out?”

“I’ll meet you downstairs, by my desk.” Reid agreed. “I’m just going to grab my own bag and check in with Morgan.”

Stiles snickered, but grabbed the folder and headed for the door. “Not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll call _my_ Derek and let him know I’m heading out on a BAU case.”

“No specifics!” Garcia said.

Stiles just shot her a grin as he slipped out the door. “Dad’s a cop, Garcia. I know.”

~*~*~*~

Stiles sometimes scoffed at his dad’s resignation to the changes in Stiles that came from spending the last few of his formative adolescent years running with a werewolf pack amidst the murderous supernatural fuckery that had pervaded Beacon Hills for the majority of that time period. Stiles scoffed, because he honestly didn’t think it had affected him that much. He’d always been weird and prone to injury and too curious for his own good. He’d poked into his dad’s case files long before he’d been worried about potential supernatural forces at play. None of this was anything that was new to him, and he figured his dad just needed to place the blame for things _somewhere_ and the fact that _werewolves were a thing_ was a convenient finger-pointing area.

Except they reached New Orleans and the local LEO’s informed them that they’d gotten a report of another missing man who seemed like he might fit with their victimology. So he was sent with Reid and JJ to go and search the missing man’s apartment, and he wasn’t exactly happy about it. As JJ drove, Reid twisted around in the front passenger seat and asked. “Something wrong? I thought you said you were okay with shadowing me.”

“No, I am. Really.” Stiles jerked one shoulder roughly, admitting. “I was just kind of hoping we’d be the ones who’d get to go talk to the M.E. is all.”

JJ startled a little, though the SUV didn’t so much as drift from the center of the lane. She met his eyes in the rearview mirror for a moment, then she asked. “Wait, you actually _wanted_ to get a look at the latest body?”

And yeah, okay. Maybe his dad had a point about him being a little fucked up after everything he’d been through, because _yes._ He _had_ wanted to see the latest body. Struggling to put his reasons into words, Stiles said. “I just...the pictures and the coroner’s reports are tickling at something in my brain and I was half-hoping seeing the body itself might...I don’t know, shake it loose.” Noticing the intense way Reid was studying him, he added. “I thought Agent Morgan said no profiling each other, so why are you staring at me like a slide under a microscope?”

“Not profiling.” Reid promised, sounding almost painfully earnest. “Just curious at the fact that the sight of mangled bodies doesn’t seem to phase you. Most interns - hell, even some of the people who transfer to the BAU who already have field experience or police experience - tend to get squeamish and distressed around their first few bodies.”

Stiles considered how much to say, finally settling on. “This isn’t my first body.” When Reid’s eyebrows climbed, he sighed and added softly. “My dad’s a cop and, as Rossi said, there were a few cases I wound up tangled up in, for a variety of reasons. Any squeamishness I once had is long since gone at this point.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t have any more bodies to worry about.” JJ cut in as she pulled up to the apartment building. “Let’s try to catch our unsub before this latest man turns up dead.”

Stiles and Reid both agreed with her heartfelt hope, so they dropped the topic and followed her out of the car and into the building. And Stiles knew this was a serious situation - one with real-life consequences for a living, breathing person if they couldn't figure it out in time - but he couldn't help being excited. He was about to be taught proper assessment of victimology by two members of one of the FBI’s elite BAU teams. He honestly couldn't think of anything better.

~*~*~*~

The piece of the puzzle clicked into place as Stiles was helping Reid and JJ search the apartment for clues that might help them figure out why these specific men were being targeted. Reid opened a closet and asked. “Was this victim living with anyone?”

“No, he lived alone.” JJ replied, sticking her head into the bedroom Reid and Stiles were in - the guest bedroom, in fact - from the hallway, adding. “Like all of the victims so far. Why?”

“This closet is full of women’s clothing.” Reid explained, stepping back to give them both a clearer view. “Was it possible he had someone staying with him? A friend, or a coworker, or even a family member? If so, it could provide us a witness.”

Stiles stepped over to the closet, crouching down to look at the shoes - all with heels - lined up neatly on the floor. Stiles closed his eyes as the thing that had been bugging him about the pictures clicked into place and he said simply. “They’re all crossdressers.”

“What?” JJ asked.

“They’re crossdressers.” Stiles repeated, opening his eyes even as he grabbed one of the heels and held it up. “These are sized for a man. The thing that was driving me nuts in the photos was their damn feet. People who consistently wear heels - especially pumps or stilettos, as opposed to boots or platforms - have slight alterations to the way the arch of their foot settles, even in repose, as well as calluses in specific spots on their feet.”

“That is a really weird thing to know.” JJ pointed out, brows pulled together. “So we’re thinking he’s targeting gay men, then?”

Stiles opened his mouth to point out that crossdressing didn’t make someone gay, but Reid beat him to the punch. “Actually, about eighty-seven percent of male crossdressers identify themselves as heterosexual. It’s a paraphilia that has almost no association to one’s sexuality, existing as a separate thing. While some gay men crossdress, the overwhelming majority of crossdressers are straight.”

Stiles grinned. “What he said.” He chirped before adding. “And I know about the changes wrought by heels because I made friends with a group of drag queens during my sophomore year of high school. I’m _still_ friends with them, actually.”

After a pause, he added. “And our vics might not be gay, but our unsub _is.”_

“He’s a sexual sadist killing men.” Reid pointed out, rolling his eyes. “The fact that he’s homosexual is pretty much a given.”

“What about the fact that he’s not a crossdresser himself...but he’s exclusively attracted to men who _are.”_ Stiles said, raising an eyebrow at the older man. “He’s closeted and it’s likely those who know him would be shocked to learn he’s gay. In fact, he conceals it so well because he hates it about himself. And because he’s only attracted to men who crossdress, he blames it on them. He rationalizes that they’re tricking him into being attracted to them by dressing like women, and that feeds his rage towards them. It’s why there’s absolutely no remorse or shame over what he’s doing to them. He honestly believes it’s their own fault, for tempting him the way they do.”

JJ sighed, nodding. “I’ll call Hotch and Rossi and get them up to speed on that, and see if Garcia can track down any clubs or bars in the area that the victims might have been at while crossdressing, allowing them to catch our unsub’s attention. If we can find his hunting ground, it should bring us closer to finding _him.”_ She left the room to make the calls.

Meanwhile, Reid considered Stiles in silence for a long moment. Finally, he asked. “Have _you_ ever crossdressed?”

“A couple of times.” Stiles said easily, putting the shoe back before meeting Reid’s curious hazel eyes levely. “It doesn’t do anything for me, in a general sense, though some of the underthings do feel good against my skin.” A wicked smile curve his lips as he added. “Derek has a fondness for seeing me in certain things, though. I might not care about the outfits one way or the other, but I definitely like his reaction to them.”

“Fair enough.” Reid watched Stiles get to his feet, then mused out loud. “I wonder if Morgan would appreciate seeing me in something like that.”

Stiles shrugged. “Only one way to find out, man. I can give you some websites that specialize in panties for men, if you want.” He gestured vaguely to the front of his pants, adding. “They have a little more room up front than actual women’s panties do, which is _way_ more comfortable. And that’s a better starting point than just springing full-on drag on a man, trust me. He undoes your slacks and sees that little hint of silk or lace against your skin...you’ll know _right away_ if it’s his sort of thing or not. And if it _is,_ you can always expand your wardrobe later.”

Reid hummed in a considering way. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’ll try it or not, mind you, but I wouldn’t mind having the websites. Just in case.”

“I’ll text them to you.” Stiles said, already pulling out his phone, fingers tapping away. He’d been given all of the agents’ cell numbers, just in case. “And good luck, whatever you decide.”

And then JJ was calling them from the other room, urging them to head back to the police station to meet up with the rest of the team because Garcia might have come up with a lead. As Stiles followed Reid out of the bedroom, he spared a moment to study the man’s long, slender legs and the firm bubble butt he had. Reid wasn’t his type, but they were the _same_ type, and Stiles had no doubt the older man would look just as stunning in panties and stockings as he himself did. He silently hoped the slightly prim man gave it a shot. If Derek Morgan was anything at all like _his_ Derek, the other agent would definitely appreciate the look.

~*~*~*~

The thrill that came from catching an unsub in time to save a victim was not something Stiles thought could be overestimated. He felt _high_ on it, especially when Hotch personally complimented him on the assistance he’d given; the clues he’d helped pick up on as fast - if not faster than - the team’s seasoned profilers. Rossi had clapped him on the back and repeated his declaration of Stiles as a natural. Reid had said he hoped Stiles seriously considered joining the BAU as it was clear he would be an asset to their team. And the girls...

_...well._

“Come on, no one has to be in early tomorrow. Not even you interns.” JJ had laughed once they were all back at Quantico, finishing up their paperwork. She nudged Stiles’ ankle with her foot under the table and shot him a playful smile. “Come out with us. Celebratory drinks are customary.”

“I’m underage.” Stiles pointed out, though he was laughing as he said it. “At least when it comes to drinking. But I honestly don’t ever say no to a good club scene. Count me in.”

Prentiss turned to smile at the other interns, adding. “You’re all welcome to come. One of the things about working in a unit like the BAU is that we learn to celebrate even the smallest victories. A lot of the time, we _don’t_ manage to save people. On a lot of cases, the body count rises as we struggle to complete a profile and offer assistance to LEO’s. A win like this one needs to be acknowledged, and doing it as a group reinforces our bonds and helps keep us close. We rely on each other, especially out there in the field. It’s important to maintain open communication and lines of trust and honesty, as well as bonds of friendship.”

The other interns murmured their agreement. That was fine, though Stiles honestly couldn't have cared less if they all came along or if none of them did. Stiles knew he had a few more departments to cycle through yet, but he’d already made his choice. Rossi had offered him a spot in the BAU, confident that Stiles would not only be an asset but that he would fit in well with the rest of the team. And Stiles was pretty sure that Rossi had been right. He felt at home with these agents, and he had no doubt he could do the job, and do it _well._ When he finished his qualifications, the BAU would be where he applied.

~*~*~*~

FBI intern Anne Smith was getting _really fucking sick_ of listening to her fellow intern - Stiles Stilinski - talk. Their instructors seemed to be constantly, vaguely annoyed with the kid - and he _was_ a kid still, for all that he was legally an adult - but the various field (and office) agents they’d been working with the last few weeks all seemed to _adore_ him. And, honestly, that only bugged Anne more. It was easy to feel superior to Stilinski when everyone else was rolling their eyes at him, or snapping at him to shut up and _listen_ instead of asking a billion questions that weren’t even _relevant_ to what they were learning about. It was a lot harder to feel smug about how Stilinski didn’t seem to fit in at all when every department they’d cycled through for case-exercises seemed determined to _court_ Stilinski. Even the elite teams - the ones that normally required all sorts of special circumstances to even be _considered_ for - seemed eager to offer the kid space.

It grated on her nerves _fiercely_ that Stilinski was just so damn _good_ at this crap. And after the case-exercise they’d just finished, she was pretty sure he was going to wind up a member of the BAU, since _David Rossi_ \- the man who taught interrogation at the FBI Academy and who’d helped _create_ profiling for fuck’s sake - had apparently personally headhunted Stilinski. She knew _she_ would wind up in the Criminal Justice Information Services Division, because - as a statistician - that was where she was most suited. She’d spend her days typing up detailed reports regarding crime around the country and likely never be in the field again after these case-exercises.

And she was okay with that, _really._ She didn’t _want_ to be in the field. That was dangerous, and - as she had seen firsthand in several of the various departments within the FBI Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch - it had the potential to be nightmarishly horrifying. She’d leave that to those who had the stomach for that sort of thing, and _happily._ She most definitely wasn’t one of them.

That didn’t mean she was happy that Stilinski _was._

And it _definitely_ didn’t mean she wanted to listen to him talk about his goddamn boyfriend for the rest of the night.

Honestly, other than FBI-related shit and weird ass trivia facts, the only thing Stilinski _ever_ talked about was his boyfriend. And yes, stories about his Dad and his friends sometimes slipped out, but it was pretty much _Derek-this_ and _Derek-that_ all the time. Anne was fairly certain that if Stilinski’s boyfriend ever walked into a room, she would _immediately_ be able to identify him as Derek, just because of how often the kid talked about the guy. Some of the other interns didn’t believe Derek existed, though Anne was certain he did. There was just something about the lovesick, reverent way Stilinski looked and sounded when he talked about the guy that told her he _had_ to be real. And still, she was _really sick_ of hearing about him.

Not that Stilinksi seemed to give a shit.

She did her best to tune him out, focusing instead on the conversation at the booth theirs was backed up against in the club, where the BAU team they’d been working with was sitting. Or, well, some of them, anyway. A couple of the agents were out on the dance floor, just like two of Anne’s fellow interns were. Dr. Reid and the tech analyst Garcia were still at the table, though. Anne wasn’t sure at first what they were talking about, but figured it couldn't be worse than listening to Stilinski.

It only took her a minute to realize that Dr. Reid was talking about his life-partner. And as much as it vexed her to hear Stilinksi talk about _his_ boyfriend, she was actually curious what sort of man the very impressive Reid had decided to settle down with. Telling herself it wasn’t _actually_ eavesdropping since they’d all technically come out together, Anne listened in.

“...so _hot,_ Garcia. You don’t even know. Like, the way Derek can just pick me up...” Reid’s words were a little blurry around the edges, like he’d had a drink or two too many, and he trailed off with a little moan before adding. “After spending so much of my childhood being bullied, I never would have thought I’d like being manhandled, but with him, I definitely do.”

Anne’s eyes were wide as they locked on Stilinski, who was still effusively telling two girls who’d wandered over to flirt with Ashton _all_ about his gorgeous boyfriend, despite their abundantly obvious lack of interest. And Anne didn’t need to actually pay attention to him to recall some of the things she’d heard him say in the past.

_‘Derek is built like a god, seriously. He can just pick me up and haul me around. Nothing hotter than being manhandled, trust me.’_

Behind Anne, Reid was still talking to Garcia, who was making encouraging noises, clearly eager to hear more. “And I never thought I’d be into body modifications, but on him? There’s just something about the way the ink looks against his skin that makes my fingertips itch to trace it.”

Garcia giggled, asking suggestively. _“Just_ your fingertips, my little wunderkind?”

Reid stammered for a moment, then lowered his voice enough that Anne had to actually _try_ to catch the words as he admitted. “I have _maybe_ used my tongue on the inked skin between his shoulders, but that is _all_ I’m admitting to.”

Anne’s eyes flicked back to Stilinski, mind racing. _‘And god, that damn tattoo between his shoulder blades...you have_ no idea _how many times I’ve dug my nails into it, or traced it with my tongue. I dunno what it is, but there’s just something about inked skin, you know?’_

Garcia was egging Reid on now, and Anne dared a glance over her own shoulder at the pair. The blonde woman had propped her chin on her hand as she gave Reid a sly grin. “Does it turn you on that he’s such a badass, oh genius one? I bet it does.”

“Of course it does.” Reid agreed, and Anne had to admit he looked endearingly ruffled. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over again. “God, Garcia, he can bench press like twice my bodyweight. And when he pins me down-”

Reid shivered, plump lips parting around a dreamy sigh as he seemed to think about that for a moment. “I love knowing that he’s this trained fighting machine - that he’s skilled enough in hand-to-hand that he could kill me about a dozen ways without even breaking a sweat - but he’s so _gentle._ God, the way he touches me, like I’m something _precious...”_

Anne tore her gaze away from them before they could notice her staring, her heart thundering away in her chest as more of Stilinski’s ramblings came to mind.

 _‘He’s so strong, and fierce, and well-trained. He’s been teaching me hand-to-hand, because he wants me to be able to protect myself. And that’s probably one of the things I love best about him, you know? That he could kill me with the barest effort and all he wants to do is keep me safe. That his hands can kill_ so easily _but he touches me with absolute tenderness. It’s a dichotomy that centers around his heart, and I love that I’m built into it.’_

Feeling sick to her stomach, Anne fled the booth she was at, heading for the bathroom. It wasn’t until she’d taken some steadying breaths and splashed some cool water on her face that she was finally able to _think._ Being away from the driving, pounding music filling the club helped clear her head a little, making her wonder if she was thinking about things all wrong. Sure, there were some similarities between the Derek that Stilinski always talked about and the Derek she’d just heard Dr. Reid talking about, but that didn’t mean they were the _same person._

She nervously wetted her lips, then chewed on the corner of one as she met her own blue eyes in the mirror, wondering what she should do. Wondering if she should do anything at all. Because it was really none of her business either way, if this _Derek_ person was somehow dating both Reid and Stilinski. Except she actually really admired Dr. Reid, and he had sounded _so_ in-love as he talked about his partner. And really, if she was _wrong,_ she didn’t want to cast suspicions on an innocent man, particularly when he was clearly making Reid very happy.

Anne took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and made a decision. Thanks to Stilinski’s increasingly vexing habit of talking about Derek all the time, she knew quite a bit about the man Stilinksi was dating. So all she had to do was ask Reid a few questions about his partner, to hopefully disprove them being the same person.

 _‘I can do this.’_ She told herself as she left the bathroom and began wending her way through the crowd, back towards the booths their group had commandeered for the evening. _‘If Stilinski_ is _sleeping with his man, he deserves to know.’_

~*~*~*~

Anne approached the table where Reid was still sitting, though now JJ was with him rather than Garcia. Smiling tentatively, Anne asked. “Can I sit?”

Reid smiled back, friendly in a way she suspected had to do with the fact that he was more than a little drunk. “Sure!” He enthused, gesturing to the rounded bench surrounding most of the table. “I love talking to interns. You guys are always so funny.”

Anne wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, so she just murmured a quiet thank you as she sat down. JJ smiled at her and asked. “Having fun?”

“Oh, well.” Anne forced herself to smile back, though it slipped away again a moment later. “I don’t really like clubs normally.”

“Me neither!” Reid said, gesturing around them as he spoke loudly. “There’s so much ambient noise in here it makes conversation difficult. And I’m really not graceful so I don’t dance a lot. But the drinks are fun, and I like spending time with my team. Bonding is important, even if you don’t necessarily like all the same activities.”

Anne nodded, seeing an opening. “That’s true. My boyfriend and I compromise all the time on what we’re going to do, since we have some interests that don’t line up. You know what I mean?”

Reid nodded, still smiling widely at her. “Derek - that’s my partner, Derek - is a really big fitness buff. He works out _all the time._ I’m not really into it, but sometimes we work out together. It makes him happy to teach me the correct form for lifting and stuff, and I like seeing him all sweaty as he does, like, a thousand pushups. And he’ll let me drag him to museums, even though they aren’t really his thing.”

“That’s sweet.” Anne murmured. JJ excused herself from the table - heading for Prentiss, who was on the dance floor - as Anne continued. “What’s your boyfriend like?”

“Oh, well.” Reid blushed. “I prefer the term _partner_ to _boyfriend,_ though he calls me that sometimes. And he’s just...he’s _amazing,_ honestly.” Reid laughed, shoving one hand through his hair before giving her a wide-eyed look as he added. “I know that sounds like bragging, but it’s the absolute truth. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Anne melted a little at the earnest declaration. “That’s great.” She really meant it, too. She bit her lip again, then asked. “Do your families approve?”

“My mom loves Derek.” Reid said with a laugh that was slightly disbelieving, as though he couldn't quite get over the fact that his mother liked his partner. “His family has been great, too. His sisters like to tease him a lot, but they’re accepting and supportive. I’m an only child so it’s a little weird for me, getting used to how they interact, but it’s been great.”

“How many sisters does he have?” Anne tried to keep her tone casual, as she didn’t want to make Reid suspicious by showing too much interest. The man _was_ a profiler, after all. She was just hoping the alcohol in his system would dull his perceptions enough for this to seem like just a normal conversation with a colleague. “Older or younger?”

“Two.” Reid took another sip of his drink, twirling the tiny drink umbrella between his fingers as he added. “One older, one younger. Derek’s the middle child.”

_‘He’s such a middle child, honestly. One older sister, one younger...it gives him this people-pleasing, peace-keeper attitude that he tries to hide under his badass persona. It’s kind of sweet, actually, once you notice it.’_

With steadily rising unease, she probed again. “He doesn’t mind you working so many long, irregular hours? I mean, dating a profiler has to be rough. Not to mention all the stress you must bring home with you, doing what you do.”

Reid nodded, something sad and shadowed passing behind his eyes. “Derek has his own demons, from his younger days. Things he went through. Personal loss and such.” Reid shrugged, mouth twisting as he murmured softly. “With what the BAU does, we all have our nightmares. Sometimes it helps knowing the person waking up beside you has them, too, even if the specific reasons behind them are different. It helps when they understand.”

_‘Derek’s been through hell, honestly. It amazes me how strong he is. I have nightmares from some shit that went down in high school and he’s always so comforting when it happens. He likes to remind me that I’m not the only one who’s experienced loss, and pain, and fear. It helps, waking up next to someone who understands what it’s like.’_

The more Reid told her, the worse Anne felt. “So, like...how long have you and Derek been together, then? Is it new, or...?”

“Two years.” Reid said, the stress lines disappearing as he slipped back into his alcohol-induced happy mood. “I can’t believe it sometimes, that it’s been that long. But I also know he’s _it_ for me. I know I’ll never love anyone else even half as much as I love him.”

Anne blinked back tears, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. She was pretty fucking sure that Stilinski was sleeping with Reid’s partner. And Stilinski had only been _“dating”_ Derek for a short while. Since around the time he came to the FBI Intern program, if she was remembering correctly. Clearly Stilinski had moved to Quantico, met Derek, and now the _bastard_ was cheating on Dr. Reid with him, likely expecting the two men would never meet. After all, Reid was on such an _elite_ team that the odds of some eighteen year old kid winding up there were slim. Of course, Stilinski had somehow beaten those odds, but still. She didn’t think either he or Reid had figured it out yet.

And that just made her heart hurt, thinking about it. She wasn’t Stilinski’s biggest fan - she could barely tolerate the kid, in fact - but that didn’t mean he deserved to be used by some guy who couldn't commit. And she _did_ like Reid, quite a bit, in addition to respecting him. _He_ didn’t deserve to be in love with some asshole who couldn't keep it in his pants around other guys. And one as unremarkable as Stilinski, at that!

Though, as she flicked her eyes over to Stilinski for a moment then back to Reid, she had to acknowledge that this _Derek_ obviously had a type.

Anne was pretty sure she didn’t have it in her to break Reid’s heart by telling him what she suspected, but she could tell Stilinski. And maybe if Stilinski ended things with Derek, Reid could salvage his relationship with the man. Anne really hated the thought of the genius being heartbroken and miserable.

She hated the idea of him being the oblivious cuckold more, though. Decision made, she vowed to speak to Stilinski as soon as she could.

~*~*~*~

Stiles hummed happily as he pushed the elevator button for the correct floor. Just as the doors were closing, a pale hand caught them and his fellow intern - Anne Smith - slid into the car with him, panting a little as though she’d run to catch the elevator. Which was weird because there were quite a few elevators and people rarely had to wait for one for longer than a couple of minutes, but Stiles gave her a small nod of greeting anyway. He was in too good of a mood to care about anyone else’s eccentricities right now.

“So...” Anne spoke and Stiles turned, raising an eyebrow at her in silent inquiry. “Like, you’re always talking about your, uh...your boyfriend. Derek, right?”

Stiles nodded, grin widening. “Yeah. I’m actually going to get to see him today.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, too excited to stay still. “I can’t wait.”

Anne had paled and Stiles’ smile dimmed slightly. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I-i-” She stammered, looking uncomfortable for a long moment before she finally took a deep breath and said in a rush. _“Ithinkhe’scheatingonyou.”_

It only took Stiles a moment to unravel the word-mush and he had half a second to feel a mix of panic and betrayal before everything he knew caught up to him and he simply raised his eyebrow at her again. “Oh?” He asked, casual as anything. “Why?”

Because Stiles trusted Derek, more than anyone or anything else, and he didn’t know what the hell Anne _thought_ she knew, but there was no way in hell Derek was cheating on him.

Anne bit her lip nervously as the elevator opened to deposit them on the correct floor. As they got out, she glanced around furtively, then dragged him over to one of the - currently empty - conference rooms and pulled him inside. Stiles let her, leaning back against the edge of the table and waiting to hear what she had to say. She seemed highly agitated and he didn’t think trying to rush her was going to accomplish much, honestly.

Finally, she spoke. “Dr. Reid was talking about his partner last night.”

“Okay.” Stiles said, not understanding the relevance of that statement but willing to let Anne make her point in whatever way she deemed fit.

“He’s apparently built like the models on the cover of romance novels.” Anne said next, and Stiles nodded because he could agree with that. Derek Morgan was _gorgeous,_ no doubt. “He’s got a tattoo between his shoulder blades. He’s got two sisters - one older, one younger - and I guess he’s been through some stuff. Tragic stuff.”

Stiles nodded agreeably; he knew a little about Morgan’s past, after all. The parts that were public record, at least, and a couple of things that _weren’t._ “Lots of people have tragic pasts.” Stiles murmured, because he didn’t want to encourage Anne to pry at that wound; everyone was entitled to their privacy, after all.

Anne shot him a look that was half-exasperation, half-anger. “Dr. Reid said his partner has a real tough exterior - the whole tough guy persona - but he’s actually a sweetheart.”

She was staring expectantly at Stiles, as though willing him to understand something, but Stiles couldn't for the life of him figure out _what._ “Oh-kay?”

Huffing in annoyance, she said. “His name is Derek. _Derek._ Does none of this sound familiar?” She seemed angry but also upset, like maybe she was going to cry or something; it was actually a little alarming. “Dammit, Stilinski, don’t you see? You’re clearly the other woman! Or, well, the other _man_ ,in this case. And I don’t want to see Dr. Reid get his heart broken when he realizes you’re sleeping with his partner, so just...just _back off,_ okay?”

Stiles stared at Anne in shock for a moment. “You...you think...” He bit his lip, stifling the laughter that was bubbling up. In a voice that shook, he squeaked out. “Oh my _god.”_

“Look, Stilinski... _Stiles.”_ Anne’s voice softened and she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I just...I felt like I _had_ to say something.”

Stiles nodded, keeping his head down and his back towards her, because he wasn’t sure he could keep from grinning like a maniac or cackling out loud if he saw her concerned face. “Th-that’s sweet of you.” He choked out. “C-could I just...have a minute? A-alone?”

“Of course.” She squeezed his shoulder, adding quietly. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

The second the door closed behind her, Stiles dissolved into a hysterical mess. It took long minutes before he could stop laughing, and by the time he did his sides ached and his face was wet with tears of mirth. As he caught his breath, his devious mind whirled. Because _his_ Derek was coming for a visit - all the way from sunny California - and Stiles had a feeling that Reid would find this whole thing just as funny as he had.

With that in mind, he set off to find the agent.

~*~*~*~

Spencer liked to think he was a good person. That being said, he knew he had a dark sense of humor and that at least half of what he considered _fascinating,_ other people considered _horrifying._ He was also willing to admit he had _nothing_ on their new prospective team member, Stiles. But he liked the way the teenager thought, and he gleefully agreed to Stiles’ plan.

Which would be why he was sitting at his desk, talking to the intern Stiles had said was a _little_ confused regarding their respective significant others. Smith was listening raptly as Spencer talked about statistical probabilities for various crimes; whatever popped into his head, really, as he was just trying to kill time. He flicked his eyes to the doorway and let his face light up with the smile he normally kept tightly leashed while at work; the one meant just for Morgan. It was a little terrifying, how easy it was to show how much he loved the other agent, but Spencer didn’t think he’d be willing to trade the feeling for anything. Risks and dangers included, Morgan was the _best_ part of his life and he knew that was worth anything.

Smith blinked at him, clearly noticing his mood-shift, then asked. “What?” 

“My partner just walked in.” Spencer said easily, though he didn’t normally publicize his relationship with Morgan. Although they technically weren’t allowed to date, Spencer knew he was too valuable for the higher-ups to risk pissing off, so it was safe enough. He just...didn’t see any reason to make it everyone’s business.

Smith stiffened and Spencer pretended not to notice, keeping his head turned towards the door. In a weirdly stilted voice, she asked. “Derek? Th-the one you were telling me about?”

“Mhmmm.” Spencer agreed. “We’re having lunch together.” He nodded his head towards them, adding softly. “He’s over there, by Rossi and Stiles.”

Smith turned around so fast Spencer _winced,_ worried she’d given herself whiplash with the movement. _“What!”_ She hissed, tense and horrified.

Spencer watched her, knowing what she was thinking. There was Rossi, talking to Stiles...and a gorgeous man who looked like he could lift a car with ease, smiling so bright he flashed dimples, with Disney prince hair and a blatant sexuality that seemed to draw every eye in the vicinity. He knew she was paying no attention to _his_ Derek; to the man she knew only as _Agent Morgan,_ who was standing next to Rossi. All she saw was the man she assumed was Spencer’s partner standing a _little_ too close to Stiles, who she believed he was sleeping with. And maybe that shouldn’t have amused him as much as it did, but that was okay. Spencer wasn’t planning to spend a whole lot of time psychoanalyzing himself over it. 

“Come on.” Spencer said, standing up and starting to walk over to the group. “No point in sitting way over here, right?”

Smith made a sound halfway between a squeak and a horrified moan, and Spencer had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He could hear her shuffling along a step or two behind him, obviously terrified of how this would play out but helpless against the urge to see it for herself. Spencer caught Stiles’ eye, though it was brief and he doubted Smith noticed. From the way she was muttering under her breath, she seemed far too distracted to have picked up on the split second of eye contact.

For Stiles and Morgan, though, it was all the signal they needed. Stiles turned and caught his boyfriend’s mouth in a kiss. It wasn’t overly passionate - they _were_ at work after all - but it was a fair bit more than _friendly._ At the exact same moment, Morgan reached into the box of donuts on the desk next to his hip and grabbed one, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a bite.

Spencer gasped loudly, voice high and angry as he snapped. “Derek, what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

Smith made a sound like a cat whose tail had been stepped on - frantic and distressed - but Spencer ignored her in favor of hastening his approach into a flurry of angry steps that brought him up to them in a matter of seconds. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring, even as he felt Smith stopping almost right behind him.

Derek - _Stiles’_ Derek - raised an impressive eyebrow at him and said with amusement. “Kissing my boyfriend. Do I know you?”

“Not _you.”_ Spencer rolled his eyes, jerking his chin at Morgan. “I mean _my_ Derek, who knows perfectly well that we’re going to lunch and he shouldn’t be eating that.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” Derek said. Then he flicked his eyes to Smith, frowning slightly before he asked. “Are you okay, Miss? You seem a little distressed.”

Spencer turned to look at the young woman, who’s face had gone blank as her eyes darted from one person to the next, seemingly at random, over and over again. She looked like her brain had gone and blue-screened, making Spencer feel a _little_ guilty.

“Y-y-you...” She stammered at last, before narrowing her eyes at Stiles and hissing furiously. “It was _you,_ wasn’t it? Your idea of a...a sick _joke,_ or-”

“Whoa, whoa!” Stiles said, holding his hands up in a peaceable gesture. “All I did was bring my boyfriend into the office so he could say hi to SSA Rossi. Derek isn’t exactly an uncommon name, you know. And if you’d ever _actually_ listened to me, you’d have known my boyfriend lives in California. It’s not _my_ fault you made some really incorrect assumptions.”

Rossi chuckled even as Smith sputtered indignantly before turning on her heel and storming away. A moment passed, then Rossi held out his hand to Derek. “Good to see you again, Hale. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting Stiles to tell me the two of you were together, but I can see it works. It’ll be nice to see more of you.”

“More of me?” Derek asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Rossi looked at Stiles for a second, then said. “I guess I just thought he’d told you. Stiles has all but agreed to accept the offered position in the BAU.”

Derek nodded. “He told me, yes.”

Rossi blinked, looking between two puzzled faces, then said. “Considering the BAU is stationed out of Quantico - and in light of your relationship - I just assumed you’d be relocating. Long-distance relationships are tough on _anyone,_ let alone someone like you.”

Spencer frowned, wondering what _that_ meant - _someone like you_ \- but Stiles’ legs seemed to give out under him. Derek swore, catching him around the waist, even as Morgan and Rossi both made concerned noises and movements to grab him as well, though they backed off when it became clear that Derek had things well in hand.

“I didn’t think.” Stiles sounded stricken as he looked up at Derek. “I didn’t...I didn’t even _consider_ the fact that...oh my god. I can’t. Derek, I _can’t_ work for the BAU. I...we can’t be apart like that, for...for christ, what, _forever?_ That’s not...no. No, I...I’ll just. I’ll pick something else.”

“Stiles.” Derek caught the teenager’s chin in one hand, his expression soft and fond. “If the BAU is where you want to work - where you think you’ll do the most good - then you’ll accept the job. And we’ll make it work.”

“How?” Stiles rasped, eyes searching Derek’s face desperately. “Der, _how?”_

Derek shrugged. “We’ll move. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not-” Stiles cut himself off with a wheeze, doubling over as he seemed to struggle to catch his breath for a moment. When he finally had, he glared at Derek. “Not a _big deal?_ Beacon Hills has been held by the Hales for _centuries!_ You can’t just...just-”

“Laura did.”

Spencer wondered who Laura was; wondered why those two simple words - said in a low, easy way - had stopped Stiles in mid-rant. “Who’s Laura?” He asked, because he was curious about all of the odd undercurrents to their conversation.

“She was my older sister.” Derek replied, glancing at him before bringing his eyes back to Stiles and adding. “She moved us to New York and it was fine. I can move us to Virginia, baby. Everyone’s scattered right now for college. Relocating us right now is actually the best option, since it’ll be a matter of everyone resettling into the new location when they come home, rather than a pick-up-and-move at a later date.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to Stiles’ forehead and then nuzzling their cheeks together, murmuring softly. “I’d go anywhere for you, Stiles. _Anywhere._ If this is where you need to be, then I’ll be here as well. We all will. And don’t you _ever_ feel guilty about that. I chose _you,_ and I will _always_ choose you.”

Morgan was studying the couple with confusion, too, so Spencer asked another question. “Wait, who’s this _we_ you keep talking about?”

“His pack.” Rossi offered, biting into one of the other donuts from the box.

Spencer and Morgan’s expressions both cleared, the _‘ah’_ clear to see on their faces as the word _pack_ slotted everything into place.

Derek Hale was a werewolf...and an alpha, at that.

“Well, that’ll make things easier when you join the unit.” Spencer said, smiling at Stiles. “Usually we dread having to fill new members in on the things they don’t know, since we’re careful to avoid supernatural cases whenever possible. That’s a _very_ separate department and we don’t like stepping on their toes, for obvious reasons.”

He paused for a moment, recalling something from the day Stiles had been introduced to them, then he snorted. “So _that’s_ what you meant when you said you were surrounded by walking lie-detectors.”

Stiles gaped for a moment, then glared at Rossi. “You could have _told me_ the rest of the team knew, too. Do you have any idea how hard it is to _constantly_ guard what I say? I could have relaxed!”

“There were interns around.” Rossi said with a shrug. “Besides, you knew _I_ knew. You should have assumed they did, too.” He took another bite of his donut, then added. “We’re the FBI, Stiles. We know pretty much everything.”

Stiles was grumbling under his breath, but he was annoyed rather than angry so Spencer wasn’t too worried about it. Instead, he turned to Morgan. “Ready to go to lunch?”

That drew Stiles’ attention. “We should all go together.” With a smirk, he added. “We can compare notes on our respective Dereks.”

Before Spencer or Morgan could answer, Derek muttered. “I get the feeling these two together are going to be trouble.”

“Oh, you have _no idea.”_ Morgan replied, rolling his eyes. “Pretty Boy here might look sweet and innocent, but he’s like a magnet for trouble. Your boy seems the same.”

“He is.” Derek admitted, resigned. “Maybe I should join the FBI, too. Just to keep an eye on him.”

“You’d just get funneled into the supernatural unit if you did.” Morgan said, but added with a charming grin. “I’ll keep an eye on your boy for you, though.”

Derek smiled back, but it was sweet and earnest. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Stiles huffed. “I can look after myself just fine.” He pursed his lips in annoyance when Derek and Morgan shared amused looks, then addressed Spencer. “Come on, Reid. We don’t have to stand here and be insulted like this.”

Spencer fell into step beside Stiles and headed for the elevators. He knew both Dereks were right behind him, listening in, as he said. “I agree we shouldn’t have to listen to them talking about us like we’re children who need babysitters, but I have to admit that I do require somewhat regular rescuing.”

Stiles laughed even as he hit the button to call the elevator car. “So do I, but that’s not the point. I demand respect.”

Spencer startled when Derek suddenly snagged Stiles around the waist, pulling the younger man back against him and nuzzling his throat, murmuring. “I respect you. I just also _know_ you, and I want to keep you safe. It would kill me to lose you.”

Stiles melted, murmuring back. “I know, Der-bear. Love you, too.”

Spencer felt Morgan’s hand at the small of his back and he leaned back into the pressure, just a little. Morgan wasn’t big on PDA, but then, neither was Spencer so that was fine. It was sweet to see Stiles and Derek together, though. The love between them was obvious and Spencer found himself glad of it. The BAU was hell on relationships. He’d watched it wreck plenty of his friend’s marriages. Spencer had lucked out with Morgan, because being on the same team meant their schedules lined up _perfectly_ and that relieved a lot of the strain.

And Stiles...well, he was apparently the mate of an alpha werewolf. Derek would _never_ leave him because of his work-hours...or anything else. It meant he’d never have to choose between the man he loved and the job Spencer knew he would be amazing at.

As the elevator arrived and they all got on, Spencer silently thanked whatever higher power had seen fit to make Stiles’ path cross with Rossi’s. The SSA had been right.

Stiles would be one hell of an addition to their team.

_**~ The End ~** _


End file.
